Alumni Poetryby Gabe Hollowell

"Somewhere They Can't Find Me" ​He had watched her eyes trace his arms and his legs, and they had just finished kissing. It was early when he showed up, But she was ready. They stood in her kitchen, And talked about the day ahead. Finally they left, just as the sun started to rise. He touched her outside, Grabbing her arm, he said, "Where are we going?" It was all that he asked for her to answer before they had left. Her response though, Left his brain whirring. With thoughts of waterfalls, And hiking through trees. What is the place... A field of carnations? Or some group of stones, That will cause lacerations, But won't break his bones. Since, on their many vacations, Since, on their many vacations, They always had a bright tone, No aching sensations. Because as he climbed through those rocks, And cut up his hands, He'd look, And he'd laugh, Because there she would stand: Laughing, watching. As he stood up to dance, While some red blood dripped, His body in a sort of disco stance, He knew she'd be watching: It wouldn't be chance, Cause her head always dipped, From watching him prance. His body turned and flipped, Just to put her in a trance. A trance, Where she could just laugh, And dip her head quickly, Then stand up and look at him and nothing else. There wasn't much else but them two and the sky, And the castles of rocks. "It's a place I have always wanted to show somebody. I "It's a place I have always wanted to show somebody. I never knew who. You'll see", Was all she had said in response to his question. But it made him think of all of those moments he had danced, Just for her to see. And he thought of the other times, They had gone far away together. To woodlands and streams that ran through big cliffs, And swamp trees with white trunks and bright shaded leaves. He wondered where they'd be, By noon of that day. After he spoke of their memories, She smiled, And that was it. They drove for a long time. An old cemetery was on the side of the road, And he pulled their car over, Just to bear witness, To the abandoned gravestones. He almost tripped as they entered the gate, And they looked at each plot. And they looked at each plot. They layed flowers on unlabeled graves. Then he cried in her arms, Overlooking the road, Sitting on the steps outside of the gate, Where he had almost tripped. Then it was noon and they drove off, To see the place. It was a grain-mill, And water flowed all around it, From a small lake, that's water rose from a geiser underneath. And the weather was awful. It was dreary and cold, And no sun caught the water. "Its the most beautiful place I've ever seen," he told her. The red paint on the mill was all flaked, And the yellow porch was fading into white. They held hands for a long time, And scaled the cliff behind the mill, Looking over it from the rocks above. He told her he loved her. She told him she loved him. She told him she loved him. "This is our place now," she said, "And it won't ever be anyone's but ours". From that spot on the stones, High above the lake, The red roof of the mill tearing at his peripheral, As they watched darkness creep back into the sky, He told her: "I didn't think I'd be here already" And she questioned, "Be where?" He explained, "Somewhere they can't find me" She knew what it meant, She always knew what he meant. She was quiet for a second, And layed her head on his shoulder, "I know."

"Crunchy" The "Snap!" first pierced the air, Like the first gunshot, At a cinema massacre, Or a schoolyard massacre, Or a church service massacre. So my eyes were wide open now. As they adjusted to the green mist and canopy, The stars on the leaves under my legs woke me up, The patterns of light through the trees made these little constellations; Breaking the mold, was the light from the moon, As it stabbed into the forest, and made itself room, On the floor with its carpet, The carpet, a large fallen body. Green, brown, and red, the leaves a home, so shoddy... And warm, And sticky, And red, And clotty. From a wound in my wrist, Came the blood on the ground, Where I had awoken, But not yet been found, By the creator, Of that awful: "Snap!" sound. Of that awful: "Snap!" sound. A basket of fruit, Around my arm was bound. As I smelled the air, My ears perked like a hound. My face felt like it morphed, Into some mound; Tall and full, Of spittle and blood. The disgusting mess of my eyes in a flood, Of salt-water sweat, And thick, grainy mud. I calmed my dry brain, and I sealed shut my wrist with only some twine, that had wrapped up the fruit. Hiding, I felt like I was hooded; Hearing: "Shoot!", Because just like a firing squad, was that boy, With his boots. With yellow chevron laces, And a rubber duck print. His pale, rosy face's angry, sweet tint; angry, sweet tint; As it changed, it left traces. And his eyes, in a slint, Implied he had secret "cold-cases". Maybe arson... ...with steel and flint? Or is it Manslaughter... ...with broken glass that once was a vase's? A child's weapons don't glint, Like a knife, or his braces. Yet... I had a small hint, Of his brain's daily races, In racetrack conditions of "mint", Or in old and strange places, Either way, it seemed to sprint. Its speed always out-did his paces. The paces he'd taken, In a direction of "life", So it kept going darker, Until he killed, The first time. I wasn't that first time, But I'd soon be second, So I ran with the twine, Screaming, my wrist beckoned. Screaming, my wrist beckoned. The pain rang and chimed; and the boy was near, I reckoned. It all started quickly, the only light from the vase; with its sheen. My legs quickly unhinged. Now he was chasing me, through scyscrapers of green. But the boy hadn't spoken, he binged; on thoughts of my wrists. His footprint looked mean. But then the boots on his feet had infringed! As the yellow chevron laces, caused him to fall, what a scene! As he fell, cracking his head, he impinged an image in my brain, Of his red face, crazed like a fiend. My fear had finally constrained, but only since his laces were fringed. As the blood in his head, Slowly seeped out and singed, the green leaves below his body, the green leaves below his body, They became so red tinged. Shocked, I stared in amazement... but suddenly cringed... At the thought of the boy, dead; His lights: totally dimmed. And my body tensed up, as I saw him limp limbed; Draped over the rock, A sheet hung in the wind.

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